


Weekend Away

by Leif Writes (FrankensteinsMomster)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Animal Death, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I forget how I tag these young Malcolm fics Every time, Medication, Panic Attacks, minor descriptions of a hurt bird, young Malcolm Bright AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28019268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrankensteinsMomster/pseuds/Leif%20Writes
Summary: "It's perfect for the kids," his mother said into the phone's receiver animatedly, "Away from it all. We needed this."
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Ainsley Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Jessica Whitly
Kudos: 19





	Weekend Away

"It's perfect for the kids," his mother said into the phone's receiver animatedly, "away from it all. We needed this. Ainsley don't touch that." She glared at her youngest. The girl stared her mother down in protest before dropping the feather she'd picked up from the ground. She ran to her au pair, clutching the young woman's hand, and trudged off to find mischief elsewhere. 

Malcolm shut his eyes and leaned back in the lawn chair. They were away for the weekend. A brief respite from the constant barrage of media personnel that constantly hounded them for any scrap of information about The Surgeon and his picture-perfect family. The trial would be starting in less than a week. He swallowed a wave of nausea back at the thought. 

He would testify against his father. A tear slid down his cheek and he wrapped his arms around his small frame. Flashes of memories crossed his mind's eye. His father's smiling face. A pale body in an old chest. A knife in his hand. Blurred images and colors melting from one to another. 

He could hear his mother's voice somewhere in the distance calling him. He dug his nails into his arms, the pain was grounding. He cracked an eye open. 

"You need to breathe sweetheart, it's okay. Take a deep breath for me." Her brows were knit with worry, the phone's she had been talking on thrown to the side, forgotten. 

His breaths were jagged and he was angry with himself for getting so wrapped up in his own memories and losing control so quickly. 

"Why don't you take one of your pills, it'll help you relax." His mother smiled at him. It was a forced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. A a _please don’t argue with me and take the damn pill _smile. He took it, swallowing it quickly with a sip from the glass of water she passed him. He looked away from her, scowling, before standing on his not so solid legs. He needed to get away from her. From everything.__

____

____

The idea that a weekend away could magically make things better angered him more than he understood why. He had spent the week arguing with his mother. He wanted to stay with Gil in the city and she wouldn’t allow it. She wanted them to spend time together as a family. He stuffed his clenched fists into his pockets. 

He wandered the house until he found an old bookshelf and picked something that looked mildly interesting before wandering into the back garden again. His mother was nowhere to be seen but Ainsley and her au pair a ways off looking at something in the bushes. The medication was kicking in and his body felt looser, his brain fuzzy and unfocused. He curled into a chair looking out into the yard and cracked open his book. 

...

"Malcolm!" Ainsley's shrill voice rang through the garden. Something was wrong. He threw down the book, eyes scanning the area to find her. 

She was knelt by the base of an old oak tree, something cradled in her hands. His heart sank. She had spent the last hour watching the young birds flitting from branch to branch, testing their newfound skills of flight while her au pair flirted with the chef somewhere. His fears were confirmed as he took the final steps closer. 

He could hear its pitiful screams before he could see it. The bird's body was twisted into an unnatural position but it was still alive and in pain. 

“Ainsley you need to set the bird down.” He took careful steps towards her, not wanting to spook her more than she already was. 

“No! It’s hurt, Malcolm. We have to do something. It fell away from its family! We have to help it!” She stamped her little feet, the first signs of an impending tantrum if he didn’t figure some solution to the situation at hand soon.

He had to get the bird away from her, he reached his cupped hands to her. “Give me the bird Ains, I’ll see what I can do.”

He didn't want to touch it. Each of its screeches caused a wave of panic to shoot through his body. 

He thought she was going to argue with him for a moment. She gave him the sternest look she could muster up in her six-year-old face before plopping it into his hands. 

The panic was rising in his body faster now that he felt the battered body in his hands. A ringing in his ears was starting to grow progressively louder. 

"Malcolm do something," Ainsley stamped her foot again. 

"I- I can't. It's too hurt. I can't help it. It's too late." 

"We have to kill it." The words sounded wrong coming from her mouth, in her small voice.

He took a step away from her. "What did you say?" 

"We have to kill it, Malcolm. It's hurt! If we kill it, it can be an angel, and then it'll never fall and get hurt again!" She looked to the ground and picked up a rock. 

He took a horrified step away from her. "What? No, Ainsley no." He looked down at the bird in his hands. It was suffering. It would die. Killing it would take it out of its misery. 

He stared at the thing in his hands and felt like he was seeing double. It was a bird. It was a girl in a box. It was alive. It was struggling. It was screaming. 

"Malcolm! What are you doing!" His mother's voice sounded frantic, she ran towards them, pulling Ainsley away from him and into her arms. Ainsley buried her head into her mother's shoulder where she began to silently sob. 

"Mother- it's not what you think." He knew exactly how bad the scene looked. He dropped the bird's body from his hands and it flopped to his feet. He recoiled from it now, limp and lifeless. His body was shaking and tears welled in his eyes. 

"It fell from the tree! I didn't! I swear I didn't-"

"Into the house. Now." She seethed

He ran, disgust and self-loathing filling him with every step. His mother held Ainsley tight, her comforting coos hurting him more than any words ever could.

…

They drove back to the city that afternoon. He wasn't speaking to anyone and no one was speaking to him. He stared out the window and watched the world fly by behind glass. As soon as they parked he was out of his seat, past a crowd of paparazzi waiting for them and running up the stairs to his room. 

He could still hear its struggling chirps reverberating over and over in his mind. He washed his hands until they were rubbed raw and tender but he could still feel its twitching body. 

He had frozen up, unable to take any path of action. He had let the bird suffer. He curled into a ball under his duvet and pulled at his hair until the pain overwhelmed him. He couldn't even save a bird. How was he ever supposed to save himself?


End file.
